


good fences

by fardareismai



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Divorce, F/M, Modern AU, New Neighbors AU, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-05-13 19:14:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 6,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5713969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fardareismai/pseuds/fardareismai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another fic from a Tumblr prompt fest which grew out of control.</p>
<p>Claire, a recent divorcee, moves into the same block of flats where Jamie lives.  The pair of them meet and become friends and more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

They said the woman who had just moved into the building was a witch.

Well… no.  What they said was worse.  They said she was a working woman.  That she took jobs from men.  That she was a divorcee.  That she was English.

If they’d said she was a witch, the woman could have laughed them off and moved on, but Jamie knew that the other accusations, even if they weren’t even in the same neighbourhood as the truth, would hold a lot more weight.

It was that, he told himself, that had him knocking on the door of her flat when his sister, Jenny, sent him a package containing cookies.  He couldn’t bake, himself, but it seemed wrong to arrive at a new neighbour’s door empty-handed.

When she opened, and he was greeted with the pale skin, wide, brown eyes, and madly curling hair he’d caught sight of a time or two in the halls and on the stairs, he knew his excuses for a lie.

She might _be_ a witch, he thought.  She could stop his heart with a look.

“Hello, my name is Jamie, and I’m you next-door-but-one neighbour.  Thought I’d bring you some cookies.  My sister made them, so they won’t poison you.”  He ended this bit of inanity with a grin.

The woman burst into sudden tears, and Jamie sprang into action, bundling her up in his arms and pushing her into her flat before any of the other neighbours could notice.

She didn’t have a sofa, so he sat himself on the one comfortable chair and pulled her into his lap to hold and soothe her through her tears.

After a time she looked up, and Jamie nearly gasped at those eyes.  They were the colour of whiskey seen through a crystal glass with the light shining through it, and her dark lashes were spangled with tears like diamonds.

“I’m sorry,” she said, now that she had her breath back.  “It’s only… you’re the first person who has been truly kind to me since I moved and it was just… I must be very tired.”

She shifted to get up, and Jamie stopped her.

“Nay, Lass, you’re all right.  You dinna have to go.”

She signed and allowed herself to relax against him, all the fight flowing out of her body.

“My name is Claire,” she said into the cloth of his shirt.

One thing they had said was right: she was English.  He liked it though.  Her sharp accent with its spiky vowels tickled his ear pleasantly.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Claire.  Welcome to Scotland.”

She breathed a short, silent laugh against his skin and relaxed further.  In a few minutes, Jamie realized that she was asleep. 

Aye, a witch she might be, but Jamie thought he wouldn’t much mind if she was _his_ witch.


	2. Chapter 2

Claire woke in a strange embrace.  She was sitting up, which might have indicated that she’d fallen asleep in the doctor’s lounge, except that the light was diffuse, not harsh from the fluorescents in the hospital, and she could hear the thump of a heart under her ear.

Her first thought was of Frank and with thoughts of him came the hope that it had all been a dream- the fights, the other women, the divorce.  But within a few more moments, she realized that the smells were wrong.  It wasn’t Frank who held her.

Her head was fuzzy in a way that told her that she hadn’t been asleep for long, but she had a headache as though she had fallen asleep weeping.

Her mind shied away from touching that open wound and focussed instead on minutia.  The chest against which she lay was broad and hard- a male chest.  It smelled of rain and ink and dust and, just slightly, of whiskey.

Into her slowly-clearing perceptions came a tuneless humming.  There were no words, or if there were, she could not understand them.

_Jamie_ , her mind finally supplied, the neighbour with the cookies.

Suddenly fully awake, Claire shot to a standing position and stood staring at the handsome young man who had brought her treats when no one else in the city (including her new boss and coworkers) had offered her even the smallest kindness.

She had no idea what to say to him.


	3. Chapter 3

Jamie glanced up from his books at a knock on the door to his flat.  He was expecting Murtagh at any moment and bent his head back to his book after calling through the thin walls that the door was open.

Whoever was on the other side hesitated for a moment before pushing the door open, either as though they were nervous to step in or because they were shifting something in their arms.  When he looked up at his visitor, he discovered that it might well be both.

Claire stood in the doorway, still hesitating at taking that first step across the threshold.  She was holding a large glass dish with a lid that was wrapped in towels.

Jamie hadn’t seen her since the previous night when she’d woken on his lap and shot away as though he had burned her.  She’d stood staring at him like a frightened rabbit as he’d slowly stood, trying to avoid spooking her.

“You need not be scairt of me,” he told her quietly, trying to soothe that fear from her eyes, “nor anyone else here.”

She’d stood still for another long moment before she relaxed some.

“Yes, thank you, Jamie.”

He’d given her a smile that he hoped didn’t look too lecherous.  “I’ll go then.  Enjoy those cookies, then I think you could maybe use some sleep, aye?”

“Yes,” she said, and he was pleased to hear a breath of humour in her voice.  “Yes, I think that would be a good idea.

Now she stood just outside his door.  She didn’t look afraid, but perhaps just a bit nervous and uncertain.

He got up from the table like a shot and crossed to the door to draw her inside by the hand.  He liked the feel of her hand in his, warm from whatever was in the dish she carried.

“Come in,” he said unnecessarily as he closed the door behind her.  “Do you want to set that down?”

She glanced at the dish in her hands as though she’d forgotten she was holding it.  “Oh!”  She held it out.  “It’s for you.  Consider it a thank you for not calling Bedlam on me last night.”

“Och, it was nothing, Lass,” he said, trying to wave off her gratitude.

“It was, actually.  I did- I _do_ appreciate it very much.  Look, I’m not much of a cook, so I had to go out and get ingredients for this special.  I’m sure it won’t poison you so… you have to take it, okay?”

Jamie laughed a little.  “All right, I’ll take it.  But you have to help me eat it, aye?”


	4. Chapter 4

Claire had spent an hour and a half pacing her small flat as she tried to alternately talk herself into and out of going over to her handsome new neighbour’s flat.  She had nearly thrown out the shepherd’s pie in four stages of its construction but finally it had come out of the oven looking perfect and it had seemed a sign.  Her cooking experiments rarely turned out so well.

She had expected, however, to drop the food off and retreat back to her safe solitude.  His offer to share his dinner with her caught her off-guard.

“I… em…” _Shouldn’t_ , her mind said.   _Am married_ , her heart said.  “I would love to,” she said.

I am not married any more, she reminded herself, clenching her ring-less left hand against the ache to her heart that fact caused.

Jamie, watched her for a moment as though he could read the turmoil inside her on her face, but after a moment he smiled.

“Is there anything I should do with this?” he asked, holding up the dish.  “Put it in the oven to finish cooking or…?”

“Oh, no.  I just pulled it out of the oven at my place so it should be ready to go.”

“Ah, good.”  He set the dish down in his kitchen and pulled the cover off to look at it.  “It’s bonnie,” he said, sending her a grin.  “I’ll just…”

He turned to place the dish on his table, only then noticing that it was covered in the papers he had been working on when she’d entered.

“Oh,” he said, blankly, making Claire giggle.  He looked up at her sheepishly.  “I invite a pretty lass to dinner and I haven’t cleared up so I look the slovenly bachelor.”

Claire rolled her eyes.  She looked around the small space which was so sparely decorated as to be nearly spartan.  Save for the crumpled tartan blanket on the back of the couch, and a small scatter of DVDs on the table in front of the television, it was pristine.

“What is this you’re working on?” she asked, finally crossing over to him to help clear away his papers.

“I work for a wine and liquor distributor.   _Fraser et Cie_ , have you heard of them?”

“I have… you mentioned last night that you’re Jamie Fraser, did you not?  Any relation?”

He gave her a quick grin over the top of a price list.  “The owner of the company is a cousin, aye.  It’s none so bad, working for family.  It’s not all nepotism- I am actually good at what I do.  And there are some benefits.”  He tucked the papers away tidily in a satchel then turned to rummage in a cabinet from which he withdrew a bottle of French wine and one of Scottish whiskey.

He turned and offered the former to Claire and gestured with his chin to the far side of the kitchen.  “Corkscrew’s in that drawer, glasses are on the shelf above.  I’ll set the table.”

In this companionable way, dinner was quickly served, and Claire found herself relaxing in Jamie’s amusing, pleasant presence.

“So what do you do, Mrs. Beauchamp,” Jamie asked once they were settled and Claire had begun dishing out the food.

“I work at the hospital.  I just finished medical school and… um… came here to practice.”

She didn’t look up.  It was fine with her to discuss her work, but not Frank.  She couldn’t talk about him and everything that had happened in the last year.  Not yet.

“Oh aye?  I’d no idea you were recently qualified.  We should be having Champagne instead of wine!”

Claire opened her mouth to argue this point when a knock sounded at the door, immediately followed by that same door opening and a disheveled, cursing vision in green tartan entered the apartment.

Jamie looked surprised but undisturbed by this apparition, so Claire assumed the man must be a friend or roommate.

“Murtagh!” Jamie cried.  “I had forgotten you were coming.”

“I come every Wednesday, lad.  How do you forget something like…” the man who appeared to be named Murtagh stopped, noticing Claire for the first time.

“Ah,” he said, giving Jamie a gimlet eye, “you’d a distraction, aye?”

Claire stood and offered a hand to this new individual.  “My name is Claire Beauchamp,” she offered, meeting those black, suspicious eyes with her large, guileless brown ones.  “I’m new in the building and Jamie was so kind to bring me cookies last night, I thought to return the favour by making him a shepherd’s pie tonight, which he invited me to share.  You should join us, there’s plenty for three.”

The older man’s eyes flicked to Jamie for one instant, then back to Claire’s face.

“Aye, I suppose so.”

Jamie gathered a plate and fork for Murtagh and the three sat to the meal which had been, until that moment, untasted.

Together the three took their first bite, and together they spat it straight back out.

“Oh Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ,” Claire muttered, glaring at the dish containing the inedible food.  “I must have confused sugar with salt.”


	5. Chapter 5

Jamie had been waiting for the knock on the door.  Claire had mentioned that she would have a very important package coming that would need to be signed for, and he had offered to do so.  He could work from home for the day and save her the trip to the post office when the delivery couldn’t be made to her empty flat.

“You’re my night in shining armour,” she had said, though her smile had been tremulous as she had done so.

She didn’t seem to realize how much of her heart her face gave away.  Jamie knew that she liked him, and was fairly sure that she was attracted to him, but something was holding her back from him.

He opened the door to find, as he had expected, the messenger from the post office.

“Delivery from the law offices of Edward Gowan,” the lad said.  “We need a signature?”

“Ned?” Jamie asked, surprised.  His uncles’ friend had been his family’s lawyer for many years until the elder of his two uncles, Colum, had died.  He’d gone into family law after that, specializing in divorces.

Jamie recalled the rumors when Claire had moved in- that she was a divorcee.  He’d given them no real credence because he’d wanted her, but perhaps she hadn’t been quite divorced yet.

He picked up Claire’s phone and called an old family friend.  He had to know.


	6. Chapter 6

Claire sighed as she entered her empty flat, glad that Jamie wasn’t there.

The envelope sat sullenly accusing on the table, brown and dull and final and horrible.

She crossed to it and ripped it open with decision.  The sooner she acknowledged it, the sooner she could begin healing.

Divorce.  It was a filthy word on filthy paperwork representing the filthy pile of shit her marriage had become in the end.

Claire needed a drink.  She crossed to her kitchen and pulled out a glass and a bottle of whiskey.  She carefully set the glass on the counter, opened the whiskey, and drank straight from the bottle.

~?~?~?~?~

There was a knock at Jamie’s door.  He’d been expecting something of the sort, and quickly crossed the room to open it revealing, as he’d expected, Claire Beauchamp (whose name had once been Randall).

She was completely pissed.

“I can’t…” she started, looking up at him through glassy eyes the same colour as the whiskey at the bottom of the bottle she still held in her right hand.  “I couldn’t… I don’t want to be alone tonight, Jamie,” she finally managed to get out, and collapsed, weeping, into his arms.

Jamie gathered her up, much as he had the first time he’d met her, and settled her on his sofa.  He plucked the whiskey bottle from her hand and dodged her weak flail to get it back.

“Nay lass, you dinna need more of this.  Some tea or coffee, aye, but no more whiskey.”

She sniffled on the couch, occasionally giving a hiccoughing sob, as he competently made tea and started coffee brewing.  He wouldn’t let her go to sleep soused as she was, or she’d wish she were dead in the morning.

“Come on then, lass,” he said, helping her to sit up again.  “You’ll drink this.”

He put the mug of sweet, milky tea into her hands and watched as she took the first shaky sip.

He remained silent as she made her way through that first cup.  When she was finished, she wasn’t sober, but she wasn’t crying anymore either.

“I’ll get you some more,” he said, taking the mug and rising to go into the kitchen again.

“No sugar this time, please,” she said, her voice high and plaintive.

“No.”

She was halfway through the second, unsweetened, cup when she looked at him carefully.

“Aren’t you going to ask what I’m doing here?”

“Why would I question the appearance of a pretty lass on my doorstep the worse for drink?  Seems a divine visitation to me.”

She gave a laugh that was half a sob and took another gulp of tea.  “I’m divorced as of today,” she said, her voice becoming watery again.  “Got the papers… that’s what you signed for.”

“Oh aye?”  He already knew the bones of the matter- the little bit that Ned could tell him- but he wanted to hear it from her.

“He cheated on me.  Never wanted me to go to medical school and when I did he… well… it’s over now, isn’t it?”

He reached out and tucked a curl behind her ear, then trailed a hand across her cheek, brushing away a tear.

“Aye,” he whispered.  “It’s over.”

Suddenly, and without warning, she was kissing him, tasting of whiskey and tears and tea.


	7. Chapter 7

For one long, blissful moment, Jamie sank into the kiss.  The sweetness of her mouth on his.  Her body tight against him, breasts crushed against his chest, and her curly hair tickling his face.

Then, suddenly, thought returned to him, and he pushed her away.

“Nay, lass.  It isna right.”

She blinked at him owlishly for a moment. 

“But… I’m divorced now and…” Her eyes suddenly went wide in horror.  “Oh Christ… there’s someone else.  You’ve a girlfriend or… Christ!  I didn’t even think.”

She stood then, covering her face with her hands.  “Jamie, I’m so sorry, I-”

He stood and placed his fingertip over her mouth, silencing her.  “Hush, _a nighean_ , please.  It isna that there’s someone else.”

Just the thought of someone else made him feel slightly nauseated.  Since he’d first found himself at her door, he hadn’t been able to think of another girl for a moment.

“You’re drunk and you’re sad, and I wouldna take advantage of that.  If it were to happen between us… and I’d like it, if you would… then I’d have it be when you’re in your right mind.  When you want me.  When I’m no just a replacement for what you’ve lost, aye?”

She stared at him, wide-eyed for a long moment.

“I-” she began, then suddenly something in her face changed.  She spun on her heel and rushed for his bathroom where the sounds of her getting sick met his ears a moment later.

Once the sounds had stopped, Jamie went into the small room to find her exhausted on the floor, her forehead pressed into the cold tiles.

He couldn’t help but smile as he flushed the toilet and helped her up off the floor to sit on the commode so that he could wipe her flushed face with a cool, damp cloth.

“Come along then, _a leannan_ ,” he said, the endearment falling off his tongue without thought.  “You’ll sleep here so I willna worrit myself about you, aye?”

She was exhausted by emotion and drink and illness and made no protest as he tucked her into his bed and by the time he had brushed a kiss over her brow, she was asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

Claire opened her eyes only to close them again immediately, hoping that doing so would keep her throbbing brain from bursting out of her left eye.

She felt nauseous, and her head was pounding, and her mouth tasted foul and dry, and yet she felt somehow safe and comforted, as though she were being held in strong arms.

She was not.  She could tell that she was alone, though the rest of her perceptions were dulled by what she was identifying as a rather dreadful hangover.

She tried to think back on the night: she had worked her shift at the hospital, and then wished everyone a good weekend, and had returned home in a state of high anxiety…

Her divorce papers, she remembered!

She’d been glad they were scheduled to arrive on a Friday so that she would not have to go to work the following day and pretend to be well when she was anything but.

Claire remembered the bottle of whiskey and her intent to drink herself out of her heartsickness.

Finally, another perception came to her.  Wherever she was did not smell like her own bed with its sheets washed in lavender-scented soap with hints of her own rose and bergamot body wash.  The pillow her face was currently buried in smelled of pine and lemon and…

_Jamie_.

The rest of the night returned to her in a rush.  Knocking on his door, her tears, the kiss, him pushing her away, being sick, and being tucked in like a child in his own bed.

She wished the floor would open up and consume her alive. 

There was a sound in the room, as of a person pushing open a door and looking in, then a quiet shuffle and a feeling of someone near her, though not touching her.  Then it was gone, and the door clicked shut again.

Claire slitted her eyes open enough to look around.  Jamie’s bedroom contained a bookshelf, a desk, and no other ornament.  She rolled her head to the side and saw that there was a cup with steam rising from it sitting on the bedside table, and two white pills.  Paracetamol.

For all she remembered him rejecting her the previous night, she could not seem to stop her heart squeezing in pleasure at the fact that he was taking care of her.


	9. Chapter 9

Jamie sipped his own mug of tea and watched the pan currently sizzling away on the stove.  He wasn’t much of a cook, but could do a passable fry-up.  Probably some combination of old Scottish instincts and the fact that it was the perfect cure to a hangover, and everyone should know how to make something of the sort.

He hadn’t slept well with her in the flat.  His sofa was too short for him, but he’d slept on it when tired before.  It was the knowledge that she was only one unlocked door away from him and the disturbing and arousing memory of her kiss that kept him awake.

He’d wanted to fall into it as much as he wanted to breathe, but the thought of her disappointment, her shame, or her disgust in the morning had held him back.

He would not be a mistake for her.  He was beginning to suspect that she could be everything to him, and he would not be less to her.  No matter what his body cried for, he would not have her until he had all of her.

But God help him if he didn’t hope it didn’t take too long.

His musings were interrupted by his front door opening and Murtagh stepping in carrying a pair of cups from the coffee shop on the corner.

“Made a night of it, did you?” his godfather asked, nodding at the bottle of whiskey on the counter.  “You never do a breakfast like that save you’ve a head needs clearing.”

“Not me,” Jamie said, for the first time in his life regretting his open-door policy with regards to Murtagh.

The older man’s eyebrows drew down and he was just about to ask what Jamie was on about when his bedroom door opened, and Claire stepped out, pale faced and sleep-tousled.

Jamie thought she was more beautiful than ever he’d seen her, but she looked like a scared rabbit upon seeing Murtagh.

“Th-thank you for your help yesterday, Jamie,” she said quickly, crossing to the door without meeting his eyes.  “And for… for being so kind last night.  I’ll… I’ll see you around then.”

“Claire!” Jamie cried, trying to stop her, but she was already out the door, closing it behind her with a decided click.

Murtagh turned to him, thunder in his face.  “What did you do to that poor lass, you wee fool?”


	10. Chapter 10

“You’re a fool, Jamie Fraser,” Murtagh said, shaking his head.

Jamie looked up from where he had been cradling his head in his hands and gave his godfather a baleful stare.

“So it would seem, but what could I have done differently, eh?”

“You could have told me to bugger off when I arrived and talked to the lass properly, then taken her to bed.”

“What would you even know about it?” Jamie asked, rolling his eyes.

“I’m a damn sight older than you, and I know a damn sight more.  And a lass like that should be taken to bed and kept there as much as possible.  Once she gets her feet back under her, she’ll be an adder- small with a wicked bite.  A good lass for bedding, but never biddable outside of the sheets I would think.”

“Murtagh!” Jamie was scandalized.

“Were I a few years younger, I might give it a try with her.  Well… suppose age isn’t everything, for that matter.”

“Murtagh!”

“Perhaps if she throws you over, lad, I’ll see if she’s interested.”

“ _Murtagh_ , that’s my future wife you’re talking about.”

Murtagh’s hard, weathered face cracked into a grin.  “Oh it’s like that then?  Does the lucky lass know?”

Jamie looked pointedly at the door through which Claire had made her precipitous escape. “Ah, no.”

“Well then, since she canna read your mind, you’ll have to court the lass properly.  Ask her to dinner.”

“Now?” Jamie asked.  He was tempted to do just that, run to her flat, knock on her door, and begin to stake his claim immediately.

“No, lad, I think perhaps a shower, a shave, and a change of clothes is in order first.”

Jamie looked down at himself and grimaced.  He’d slept in his clothes from the previous day and they looked it.

“Some flowers might not go amiss either.  It’s Saturday night, take her dancing.  You’re both far too young to stay home on a Saturday night.”

Jamie shook his head, unable to ignore the irony of being given advice on love from his perpetual bachelor of a godfather, but not able to deny the sense of his words.

“Shower, shave, clothes, flowers, ask.”

“Dinner reservation, ask.”

Jamie nodded.  “Dinner reservation, ask.  Anything else, oh wise one?”

Murtagh grinned again.  “Just be sure you’re flies are done when you arrive to pick her up.”


	11. Chapter 11

Claire turned in front of the mirror then frowned, second (or third, or fifteenth) guessing her choice of dress.

“Maybe a pair of trousers would be better,” she murmured.  “And less eye-makeup.  Maybe no lipstick?  Or would that look too unfinished?  And what necklace?  And earrings?  Oh god, I can’t do this.”

She sat on the edge of her bed, which was piled with clothes and buried her face in her hands.

Jamie had arrived at her door at noon with flowers and an invitation for dinner and dancing.  She’d been so surprised she’d said yes without a thought, and the brightness of his grin had stopped her correcting herself.

Twenty times since then, however, she’d thought of leaving her flat, going to his, knocking on the door, and telling him there was no way she could go on a date with him.  No possible way.

“And why not?” a voice in her head asked.

“Because I’m married,” she argued with it.

Though, of course, that wasn’t true, and the proof of it was sitting on her coffee table where she’d been unwilling to touch it to move it again.

“Because he’s young and beautiful and deserves someone young and beautiful as well,” she tried again.

But she knew that wasn’t true either.  She’d been looking in the mirror and knew that she was lovely- her skin tight over her face and her body still largely unblemished with those marks of age.  The blood-red colour of the dress set off her dramatic colouring- pale skin and dark hair and golden eyes.  She was beautiful, and she knew it.

“Because I’m terrified,” she admitted, quietly.  “I think that Jamie could be… everything, and I’m not ready.”

She looked around.  She ought to get a cat so that these one-sided conversations were just a bit less mad.  What she saw, however, were the flowers.

He hadn’t chosen roses.  Frank had, on the very few occasions that he’d gotten her flowers.  Huge, hothouse roses in reds or pinks.  Claire liked roses, but they were so common as to be almost meaningless.

Jamie had chosen something all together more unique.  His was a selection of wildflowers rustically arranged.  If she didn’t know it was winter, she might have thought he’d gone to the moor to pick them himself.

The thought made her smile, and her fear receded some.

She missed having flowers.  She’d had a garden in England and thought, someday, she might have one again, here in Scotland.  For now, however, she had flowers, and a date.

There was a knock at the door.


	12. Chapter 12

Jamie had been looking at the ground as he waited for her to answer her door, and so when the door opened, he was greeted first with a pair of bare feet with small, neat toes with unpainted nails.

He drew his gaze slowly up long, pale legs un-clad in tights or stockings or anything that hid that glorious white skin from his gaze.

Up and up he dragged his eyes until he finally, some inches above her knees, met the bottom of her skirt.  It was red and made of some shiny material that caught the light as it moved, and it would move, swirling around her as she danced.

Up farther, to where the skirt nipped in at her small waist, and then where her breasts pressed tight the bodice of the dress, the neckline of which gave a tantalizing peek at the soft white roundness of them, making Jamie’s mouth water.  He might have lingered there, but one of the few circuits still firing in his brain dragged his eyes away.

Up further still the long, bare column of her neck and finally to her face, which wore a look of smug, knowing humour, as though she had been able to read his reactions on his face as easily as he could usually read hers.

He blinked.  It was as though the sun had come out from behind a cloud and the entire hallway seemed bathed in her light.

“Good evening, Jamie,” she said, the smile growing as he remained silent.  “You look very nice this evening.”

He almost wished he’d agreed to Murtagh’s (half joking) suggestion and worn his kilt, but had chosen something a bit more modern- black trousers and waistcoat, and a shirt that his sister had insisted he purchase, as she said the blue matched his eyes.

“You look… amazing,” he finally choked out, and she gave him a full-blown grin.

“I need to finish getting ready.  Would you like to come in and sit down?”


	13. Chapter 13

“When is your reservation for?” Claire asked, waving Jamie to the one seat in her living room (and she was going to need to get a sofa or second chair if she was going to have guests…).

“Forty-five minutes,” he answered, his eyes tracking her movements as she padded into her kitchen.

“And how long will it take us to get there?”

“Fifteen minutes or so.”

Claire popped her head back out around the wall of the kitchen and grinned at him.  “So you’ve taken a few girls out and know how we work then.”

“A few,” Jamie said, not allowing himself to be led into a conversation about his past experience.

Claire didn’t push.  She really didn’t want to think about Frank, so it would be unfair to quiz Jamie about his lovers either.

She returned to the living room with a glass of whiskey, and handed it to Jamie with a smile.

“I’ll be done in just a moment.”

She entered her bedroom and shut the door behind her, closing her eyes for a moment to re-collect herself.

He was a good-looking man in jeans and sweatshirts.  In evening-wear, he was glorious and Claire needed a moment to slow her thrumming heart.  Add to that the way he had looked at her like he wanted to eat her up (and wasn’t _that_ a compelling thought…) and Claire was unsurprised to find, when she went to the mirror to put on her earrings, that her cheeks were flushed and her eyes dark.

Claire considered the two pairs of shoes she’d pulled from her closet- one tall and thin-heeled, and incitement to lust, and one lower-heeled and more sensible.

She wasn’t feeling particularly sensible, but she spent all of every day on her feet working, and it would do her no good to cripple herself.  And, she reminded her unruly libido sharply, it was a first date.  A “come-fuck-me” shoe (as one of the nurses at work called them) had no place on a first date.

Still, it was with some disappointment that she put the lovely, impractical shoes away in her closet.

Maybe next time, she thought as she returned to Jamie.


	14. Chapter 14

She wasn’t a brilliant dancer, Jamie noticed, but having her in his arms, live and hot as a flame, drove any deficiencies out of his mind.

His hands slid over the slick fabric of her dress, and the driving beat of the music made him forget propriety and restraint, and he cupped her bottom, holding her to him as the music drove them into each other.  His thigh slid between hers and he wanted her so badly.

He knew now why the preachers said dancing was an incitement to lust.  He’d danced with girls before, and never found himself in such a frenzy, however, so perhaps it was just her.

~?~?~?~?~

He was a brilliant dancer, but Claire didn’t much care about the moves or the music as he held her close.

She moved against him, a parody of the act of love as the music drove away memory and sadness and everything except his hands on her, his body against hers, his breath on her skin.

He smelled of sweat and whiskey and man and she wanted him more than she’d wanted anything in a long time.

More than she wanted Frank back.

More than she wanted food or breath or love.

~?~?~?~?~

By the time he’d returned her to the door of her flat, most of the frenzy of the music had left them, though there was still a faint, undeniable fizz in the blood that ran through them both like electricity.

Maybe it was that which gave Claire the courage to rise up on her toes and kiss him.

Certainly it was that which made Jamie press her back into the wood of her door and deepen the kiss, his hands finding their new favourite spots on each of the globes of her arse.

Some minutes later, when they were both breathing hard, Jamie raised his head.

“You could come in?” Claire gasped.

He stepped back at that, ignoring the pleas of his conscience-less cock.

“No… It wouldna be right.  It’s still too soon.”

He liked that she looked disappointed and kissed the lower lip that just might be pouting.

“But God help me, I want to.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Murtagh (who is my favorite) is a sap.

Murtagh watched his godson and the Sassenach for two months.

He listened every Monday as Jamie told him where he and the lass had gone for dinner, what film they had seen, or where they’d gone dancing, and then watched the lad moon about at work for the rest of the week before he had another date with her.

He walked in on them canoodling on the sofa at Jamie’s flat, or eating dinner together, or- strangely- playing checkers.

“You should lock the door when you have her over, Jamie lad,” Murtagh had said one morning when he’d caught them arguing over coffee versus tea with breakfast.  “You two might have a lie-in sometime and want me gone.”

“She doesna stay the night,” Jamie had said, not looking at his godfather.  “We dinna…”

That had stopped Murtagh in his tracks.  “Why not?” he’d asked carefully.

Jamie had shrugged awkwardly, as though his shirt fit him ill.  “It… it has to be right.  It has to be perfect.  She… I want her, but it’s more than that, aye?”

Murtagh had nodded, and vanished home to find something he’d kept in trust for years, waiting until he thought it was needed.

He called ahead before going over, for he knew Jamie would want to have this out alone.

“You need these,” he said, once he and Jamie were seated with drinks in hand, and dropped a small pile of jewelry onto the table.

The first thing Jamie picked up was the necklace.  Scotch pearls- beautiful and irregular- strung together with gold roundels on a short strand that would ride Claire’s neck, stunning against her opal skin.

“My mother’s pearls?” Jamie had said, sounding confused and hopeful.  He’d then reached for the other object on the table.

It was a silver ring with an interlaced thistle design done delicately around it.  Jamie picked it up and frowned at it.  It was a beautiful piece, and inside was etched a phrase.

“Da mi basia mille,” he read.  “Give me a thousand kisses,” he then translated, and looked up at his godfather.  “What is it?”

Murtagh gave him a small, pained smile.

“I had thought once to wed your mother.  Came so near to asking her that I had the ring made, but then she met your da, and the rest was history.  Kept the ring though… in case.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before you ask: Yes, this one is complete. No, I am not going to continue it.
> 
> And yes, of course she said 'yes,' sillies!

Jamie took a deep breath and knocked on Claire’s door, knowing that it would open onto his future.

When the door opened, she was looking wary, but she brightened at the sight of him.

“Jamie, it’s you!”

“Who is it, Claire?” came a man’s voice from inside the flat.

At the sound of her voice, her eyes tightened so that small lines showed around them.

“I don’t have to stay if you’ve company, Claire.  I just wanted-”

“It’s Frank,” Claire said, curtly.  “Please come in, you should meet him.  Please?”

The last was a desperate cry for help, and one that Jamie could absolutely not refuse.  He entered after her.

The man who had been married to the woman he loved was older than Jamie had expected.  He had to be nearly a decade and a half older than Claire herself, making him nearly twenty years older than Jamie.

He was a good looking man of middling height with dark skin and dark hair and a pleasant, bland sort of a face.  Claire had said once that he and Jamie could not have been more different from each other, physically, and Jamie thought she was right.

What was the bastard doing in Scotland, and in Claire’s only comfortable chair?  He had teased her about it so often that she had refused to buy any other piece of furniture, but curled into his lap like a cat whenever came over to her flat to spend time with her.

He had never objected.

She wasn’t curling up in Randall’s lap, he saw.  She had drawn one of the barstools from her kitchen into the living room and had apparently perched on it while they had talked.

Claire moved to get him a barstool as well, but he halted her, taking her hand.

“I’ll get it, dinna fash, Claire.”

She subsided onto her stool, and Jamie could feel Frank Randall’s eyes follow him as he moved comfortably through the flat.

Once he was seated at Claire’s right hand, Randall moved his gaze back to Claire.

“And this is?”

“Jamie Fraser.  He’s my neighbor but one,” she waved in the direction of Jamie’s flat, “and my…” she glanced at him, confused, “boyfriend.”

Jamie wrinkled his nose at the word.  What he felt for Claire was bigger and more terrifying than the word “boyfriend” contained.  He had a better word in mind, if Randall would bugger off.

“I see,” Randall said, glaring at Jamie.  “Well that was remarkably fast.”

Jamie’s fist curled up at the implication Randall was making, but Claire beat him to it.

“That’s quite rich considering you didn’t bother waiting until our marriage was over to find someone new, Frank.  What, exactly are you doing here?  Come to try to make amends?  The new girl doesn’t sit as well with the board of Oxford?”

“I-” Frank’s gaze flickered to Jamie again, and Jamie knew.  He had come to try to make amends, thinking that Claire would be thrilled to see him.  Never expecting that she might have moved on.

“I just… wanted to be sure you were settling in well,” Randall said, making a fast recalculation.  “I was sorry for how we parted company, and I wanted to be sure you were… well.”

“I am, thank you,” Claire said stiffly.  “I am doing very well.  I’m happy, Frank.”

He nodded.  “So I see.  I’ll see myself out then.”

When he was gone, all of the starch in Claire’s spine seemed to vanish.  She leaned against Jamie for support and seemed, suddenly, very small.

Jamie gathered her up in his arms as he had the first time he’d ever met her and carried her to the chair that Randall had just vacated, cradling her against his chest and stroking her hair.

“The worst part is, I’m glad he’s gone,” she said.  “I’m glad it’s just us again.  I loved him for years… shouldn’t I be sorry to see him go?”

That statement lifted a weight from Jamie’s heart.  He’d feared her response had been regret for seeing Randall go, but it was, instead, guilt at not having regret.

“No, lass.  He’s your past now.”

She sighed and relaxed against him.

“I came over here, however, to ask you about how you wanted to spend your future though.”


End file.
